


älskat utan gränser, älskat utan tvång

by meritmut



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/F, Female Kylo Ren, Force Visions, Missing Scene, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 06:12:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14847299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meritmut/pseuds/meritmut
Summary: She’s such a needy thing, so starved for affection and tenderness. She would take whatever Rey gave and be grateful for it.





	älskat utan gränser, älskat utan tvång

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aionimica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aionimica/gifts).



In the dream, she is alone again. Most of her nightmares take this shape: the open wound of abandonment, the terror of being left behind once more, they haunt her like tenacious ghosts, but when she wakes Ben is curled beside her and watching her with such open warmth and wonder in her brown eyes, like she can't quite believe this moment to be true, and this is how Rey knows it must be.

“Dreams?” Ben asks softly. A slight frown creases her brow when Rey nods. “They weren’t real.”

“I know.”

Ben edges closer under the covers, lifting her arm to curl around Rey’s side and pull them together so their foreheads are touching and all Rey can see are her eyes, the scar that splits her face little more than a rose-coloured stain across her cheek. “This is real,” she says, and it is— _she_  is, Rey can feel the heat of her where their bodies press together, browbone and knee and ankle, threaded together like two halves made whole, “you and me.”

Rey takes a shuddering breath, pulls Ben into her lungs.

She is all around, here in the blueish half-light of a day so new the stars are still out and the dawn chorus is only just warming up. There are stars in her eyes, too, whole constellations strewn through the crow-black wilderness of her hair; written out in freckles and moles across the lunar expanse of her skin. She is like a galaxy made flesh, Rey thinks. She’s beautiful.

It is not  _quite_  the pilot in Rey that hungers to explore every inch of this particular galaxy. She lets her gaze wander, taking in as much of Ben as she can see, all the places she would like very much to know better. She wants to learn by heart these soft, moon-kissed acres of skin; to map them out with her fingers and her lips and commit to memory the blush that spreads from Ben’s cheeks down to her chest, the scattering of freckles where the broad slopes of her shoulders meet the alabaster column of her neck. The scar carves across her there like a river winding down to the sea: Rey wants to follow the river all the way to its source, to dip her tongue into the divot of Ben’s collarbone and savour the salt of her skin until her mouth knows no other taste.

The collarbones present a unique challenge to Rey’s self-control. It’s  _animal,_ the pull they exert on her, filling her belly with the kind of insatiable need she’d never have believed herself capable of before she laid eyes on the things. She wants to sink her teeth into the smooth dip of muscle below the bone, near the shiny pink welt of scar tissue; she wants to kiss her way along to its rounded terminus in the hollow of Ben’s throat and maybe leave a few pretty blossoms there of her own.

She wants to get lost in Ben, just a bit. More than a bit.

A lot, actually.

Rey’s arms have wound themselves around Ben’s neck and now she presses her advantage, threading her fingers through Ben’s silken hair and pulling her in until their lips meet. Ben sighs into her as they part and lazily meet again, unhurried, tender and sweet in the way she pretends she doesn’t like best of all (she likes to play the wolf, says she never learned how to be gentle, but Rey will always know the truth by the way the she-wolf melts for her caresses). She likes these kisses too: kissing is still new, really, and Rey has yet to get enough of it or find a kind she  _doesn’t_  like, but the slow, hazy communion of lips and tongue, of wandering hands and heady, intoxicating desire…she could do it forever. She could lie like this, wrapped in Ben’s arms and growing steadily drunk on kissing, forever.

She hooks her leg around Ben’s thigh and uses it to bring them even closer, rolling her hips teasingly until Ben  _whines._ Rey hides her grin behind more kisses, soothing with the movement of her lips and slow rhythm her body is finding. She digs her fingers further into Ben’s hair to scratch at her scalp until her pretty little pleas have turned to purrs of contentment, and now her hips are rocking into Rey’s to match her pace in wordless want.

She’s such a needy thing, so starved for affection and tenderness. She would take whatever Rey gave and be grateful for it.

 _Give you everything,_ Rey thinks, her hand slipping from Ben’s hair to cradle her jaw.  _Neither of us will go hungry again._

Her other leg has nudged its way between Ben’s thighs, and the knight’s kisses grow a touch feverish as she moves herself against that new source of pressure. Her palm shifts from the small of Rey’s back to curve around her hip and— _oh—_ now there’s a strong, wide thigh between Rey’s legs too, pressing up against her with the kind of pointed intent she takes to mean Ben’s running out of patience with her teasing.

Not that  _Ben_ and  _patience_ tend to occur in the same thought, generally.

She tilts her head away only to start raining kisses on every part of Rey’s face she can reach; her chin, her cheeks, her brow, her temples, the very tip of her nose, until Rey’s giggling despite herself and ducking to hide her face in Ben’s shoulder to escape. Ben’s arms tighten around her, gathering her so close Rey thinks there are two hearts racing in her chest. She burrows further into the warmth of Ben’s chest, the solid strength of her, too close even for kissing now but it doesn’t matter, not when with every breath she takes she breathes  _Ben_  in. Like the Force in which all things are one, it’s impossible to know where one ends and the other begins, and this is how it should be, their bodies the material expression of their spirits’ bond.

Or maybe it’s the other way around.

Ben shifts her thigh and the sudden friction makes Rey  _gasp,_ rocking her hips to chase the feeling as the low rumble of Ben’s answering laughter reverberates through her ribcage. The rift between matter and spirit doesn’t seem so vast, like this—what are bodies to the Force, anyway? What are blood and bone to the Force, that sings to Rey even now with the promise of golden futures just beyond her reach.

This future isn’t beyond her reach. How can it be, when it’s already in her arms?

She’ll never know what shatters the vision first—the harsh cry of a voice, or the freezing cold wind that bursts into the hut on Luke’s heels. The fire gutters and dies as the roof blows outward with the force of the old Jedi’s anger, and in pours the rain, drenching her anew in seconds.

Rey barely feels it.

She looks back across the hearth, to the place where Ben had been. If she tries, Rey can almost still feel the warmth of her, but then it’s gone and all that’s left is the cold and the shock and the bludgeoning weight of Luke’s fury in the Force.

Luke, who had lied to her.

Luke, who had tried to  _murder_  Ben.

Shock turns swiftly to rage. Rey rises to her feet with a snarl, heedless of the rain soaking her to the bone.

That future—it had been within her grasp. It had been  _right there._

Her fingers close around nothing now.

**Author's Note:**

> so much drama could've been avoided if only luke had realised they can't destroy the galaxy if they're too busy making out like teenagers


End file.
